


you remind me of the breath that i drew

by viscrael



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Pre-Canon, angst what angst, i only know happy racing gfs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 09:47:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11250600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viscrael/pseuds/viscrael
Summary: She loves Sloane. Sloane knows this, and she loves Hurley. But it is a different thing altogether to see it written on her girlfriend’s face so plainly, to know that someone looks at her with such adoration, such reverence, such love.Hurley loves her.She loves her. She loves her.





	you remind me of the breath that i drew

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this just bc i ! love!! hurloane!!!! and i want these girls to be HAPPy so uhh have some small snapshot type things of just like. small moments between them. happy moments. no angst here kids Only Fluff

The first time they kiss, they’re both riding the adrenaline from winning. Sloane’s whole body thrums with energy, with the high of that broken ribbon and the two of them in first place, and there’s so _much_ that she can barely contain it. Hurley is alternating between yelling her happiness and grinning that shit-eating grin, her dimples craters in her cheeks with the force of her smile, and as they get out of their wagon to greet each other, Sloane’s own face hurts with how widely she beams.

It’s the energy and the influence of the win that lets her crush Hurley to her the moment they’re close enough to touch each other, that lets her laugh loudly and fully and not hesitate before swooping down and ungracefully smashing their faces together in an intense and sudden kiss. It’s not particularly good, and they’ll certainly have many much better ones, but after a shocked noise escapes Hurley, she kisses back, and that’s all that Sloane really cares about.

 

\--

 

“This is kind of unorthodox,” Sloane says, and then immediately regrets it because of the way Hurley goes quiet and still, like Sloane’s upset her. And that is the last thing Sloane wants to do.

“Yeah,” Hurley kind of laughs, “I guess so.”

Sloane shifts slightly, and in turn, Hurley does too. They’re lying in front of Sloane’s fireplace, Sloane leaning back into a pillow with Hurley to her chest, the back of the smaller woman’s head pressing into her clavicle. It’s snowing tonight.

“I didn’t mean that it’s a bad thing,” Sloane amends quietly.

“I know you don’t. You’re...still right, though. It’s kind of…” She laughs, and this one is a little more real. She leans further back into Sloane. “I’m sure I’d get in all kinds of trouble if they knew I’m dating a criminal.”

“I’m pretty sure they’d be more concerned about the illegal racing thing,” Sloane says.

Hurley laughs fuller at that. She shifts, slipping down lower so can take Sloane’s arms gently and drape them over her neck. Sloane lets her do so without comment.

“This is nice,” Hurley says. “Even if it is kind of unconventional.”

“I like being with you,” Sloane admits.

Hurley pauses. She tilts her head back so she’s meeting Sloane’s gaze upside down. “I like being with you too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She smiles.

 

\--

 

“This is going to sting a little.”

Hurley nods, the ice pack pressed against her cheek moving as she does. Sloane is careful when she presses the cold rag into the open wound running across Hurley’s arm, but Hurley still sucks in a breath, trying to hide the way that she winces. Sloane catches it anyway and grimaces.

“Sorry,” she says, pulling the rag away.

“No, don’t be.” Hurley smiles at her. “You’re doing good. Keep going. I’m fine.”

“You’re sure? I—I don’t want to hurt you or anything—“

“You know I can take more than this,” Hurley says, rolling her eyes at Sloane’s concern. It is not done unkindly though, and Sloane takes no offense to it. She lets out a breath halfway between a huff and a laugh.

“I guess you’re right.”

She returns to what she was doing, cleaning the dirt from the open gash on Hurley’s arm. Racing is not the safest past time, so it’s only expected that they’ll get banged up every now and then; this is only different because they don’t usually get cuts _this_ deep. An opposing racer had clipped Hurley’s arm, running across the back of her elbow. They’d returned home the moment the race was over, Hurley clutching her still-bleeding arm. Sloane knows there’s probably a trail of blood following them to their house now. She’ll have to clean that up later.

For now, however, she works on getting Hurley’s wound cleaned. Sloane is not quite used to doing this yet. She’s cleaned her own wounds, sure, but rarely does she have to do anything heavy duty on another person. And she doesn’t like hurting her girlfriend, even _if_ she knows Hurley can take it. So that certainly doesn’t help.

“Hey, Sloane?” Hurley says, pulling Sloane from her thoughts as she goes about cleaning out the last of the dirt from the wound. The way that Hurley has to twist and hold out her arm for easier access does not look very comfortable, so Sloane’s hurrying as much as she can to finish and get it bandaged.

“Hmm?” She finishes with the rag and sets it aside, reaching for the gauze.

“You did good today.”

Her hands fumble as she picks up the gauze. She glances at Hurley. “Oh, um…you did too. But what makes you say that all the sudden?”

“Nothing in particular,” Hurley says, shrugging her left shoulder—the one that isn’t twisted at an uncomfortable angle. “I was just thinking, back to the race. And you handled everything really well. I don’t get to tell you how good you are very much.”

“You don’t have to,” Sloane mumbles, hoping her face is not as pink as it feels right now. Hurley does not compliment her much. She begins with the gauze, keeping her hands deceptively steady.

“I know, but I wanted to.”

There’s something about the way that Hurley says that, then, that makes Sloane pause, that makes her glance up at her girlfriend, and she is met with an expression she knows she often wears when looking at Hurley—eyes lidded slightly, lips upturned in a small but poignant smile, head tilted almost unnoticeably; everything about her screams _lovesick_. She loves Sloane. Sloane knows this, and she loves Hurley. But it is a different thing altogether to see it written on her girlfriend’s face so plainly, to know that someone looks at her with such adoration, such reverence, such _love_.

Hurley loves her.

She loves her. She loves her.

Sloane looks back to her gauze, to the brown arm that she’s gently holding steady with her free hand, the rough, darkly freckled skin that leads to a strong shoulder, muscles toned with years of training and sparring, the white fabric of her tank top—well, Sloane’s tank top. Hurley borrowed it weeks ago and never returned it. It’s two sizes too big on her, and the hem comes all the way past her thighs. But it looks good on her, so Sloane hasn’t been able to find it in herself to say anything about it. More often than not, her chest swells with so much affection she can barely hold it in before she gets the chance to say anything about it.

“I’m only so good because you’re there,” Sloane says. “We’re a team, after all.”

Hurley’s face breaks out into a wide grin, one much less subtle, much less private than the smile she had been wearing moments ago. This one is meant for both of them.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “We are a team.”

 

\--

 

“Are you awake?”

“Mm.” Sloane rolls over halfheartedly, the blankets moving with her as she does. When she blinks her eyes open sleepily, she’s greeted with Hurley’s wide-awake face right at hers. In the dark, she can make out the almond shape of Hurley’s eyes and, vaguely, the dark pupils she knows are swallowed by her irises. Her short hair is frizzy around her head, messed up—bedhead.

Lazily, Sloane pulls her hand out from underneath the covers and reaches in the dark for Hurley’s lips, finding her chin, her jaw, then tracing the seams of her girlfriend’s lips. She feels and half-sees them widen into a smile, can just make out the contrast of Hurley’s white teeth against her lips.

“’m awake,” Sloane mumbles. “What is it?”

“I love you,” Hurley says.

Sloane laughs, and it’s hoarse from sleep. “Is that what you woke me up to tell me?”

“You were already waking up.”

“But it is what you wanted to tell me.”

“Of course. I always want to tell you that.”

This time, Sloane doesn’t laugh; she only feels her way across Hurley’s cheekbones, finds her jawline, her ear, feels around until she reaches the back of her neck and tugs her gently forward until their lips meet in a soft, sleepy kiss. Despite it not yet being morning, Hurley has morning breath, and Sloane knows that she probably does too, but she doesn’t care.

When they’ve pulled away, against Hurley’s lips she sighs, “I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> i dont kno shit abt first aid so if its not correct just pretend that the bandage scene was. actlyl what ur supposed to do if someone gets a very bad gash in their arm


End file.
